The Yellow Hyacinth
by Fried Cheesecake
Summary: And then the memory of her dead body hanging over the bed is back; the image flashes around my mind, taunting me and drawing imaginary tears to my ungodly, immortal eyes. Alternate Ending to Reminiscence.


**The Yellow Hyacinth**

It's festival time again, and I'm sitting in the back of a dark, musty bar, stirring my water and watching as everyone around me gets completely wasted. The bartender and I are the only sober ones here. I catch his eye for a moment and get the feeling that he's never wanted this job. He looks away, distracted by a man trying to climb over the counter, and doesn't glance my way again.

The bar's surprisingly quiet for a room filled with drunks, but after the first one fell unconscious, the rest of them started dropping like flies. Or dominoes, I suppose. I don't know any of these people, and it's not fair for me to judge them, considering that, not too long ago, I was just like them, but I can't help scoffing at them. Drunken bastards, all of them.

And then, in the midst of it all, I spy the third and final at least sort of sober being within fifty feet. He's sitting alone, on the other side of the bar, mirroring my exact pose, but staring into the distance, eyes glazed over. His glass is half-empty. Always the pessimist, I am.

The bartender has finally had enough, and throws the drunkest of the men onto the streets, yelling after them to stay out. He grumbles under his breath, then catches me staring at him. I don't even bother being polite and looking away.

"I know you," the other man says suddenly. He's lowered his head, wild red bangs putting him and his turquoise eyes in the shadows, but I don't need to see his face to realize who he is. I remain silent, because a statement that dumb doesn't deserve a response.

The bartender quietly washes glasses, but he's listening. His eyes are glued to the redhead.

Moments pass in silence as the last of the drunks file out, guffawing and slapping each other on the back. I watch them go, unperturbed by the man across the bar. When he's ready to confront me, he will.

"Why are you here, Yuan?" the man asks suddenly, flipping his head up. I meet his narrowed eyes, but my expression remains blank.

"Why am I here?" I mutter, more to myself than to him. It's ridiculous that I'm letting that one question get to me, but it's a good one. And I don't have an answer.

"Did you come to turn me in?" he scoffs, swilling the remains of his drink before downing it in one gulp. He smirks at me, and sets his empty glass aside. The bartender glances at me, then turns back to the other man and finally recognizes him.

"I should," I say, tearing my eyes away. "You deserve it, after all that you did, _Chosen_." _Asshole_, I think to myself.

Zelos laughs, a sinister grin forming on his face. He stares straight into my eyes and laughs. What a piece of work is man.

"Are you still bitter, Yuan?" he asks as his laughs slow to a menacing chuckle. I grip the side of my glass, teeth grinding together, but I make no comment. There's satisfaction for him in seeing me squirm, and he loves it so much. "Are you angry at me…" he sighs, twirling red hair around his forefinger. "…or _her_?"

"You're the one who killed her!" The words fly out of my mouth before I can help it, and then the memory of her dead body hanging over the bed is back; the image flashes around my mind, taunting me and drawing imaginary tears to my ungodly, immortal eyes. Her body, so limp, and bloody.

Zelos stands. He's taller than I remembered. I watch, biting my lip, as he makes his way around the bar to me.

The bartender is watching this scene from the other side of the tavern, nervously cleaning tables with his hands behind his back. He's too scared to turn away.

The stool next to me creaks as Zelos sits down on it, swiveling it around to face me. I can't meet his eyes. I lift my water glass, and feel his hot breath on my neck as he leans forward.

"She never loved you," he whispers in my ear. I slam the glass down, and water splashes up around the sides and onto the bar.

"She didn't love you either," I hiss, struggling to keep myself together. "She only left you because you threatened her."

"Oh, but that's the thing isn't it?" Zelos laughed softly; his expression turned to one of mock pity. "_She left you_."

I can't take it, and I throw a punch at him, which knocks him off the stool with an unfitting shattering sound. Then I realize I didn't punch him- I threw my glass at his face. He looks up at me, from where he's laying on the floor, and touches the side of his face which is dripping blood down his cheek onto the floor. The remains of the glass are sprinkled on the floor around him. The way his eyes shimmer when he glares at me, I can tell a brawl is coming.

I leap from my stool, over him, and rush out the door before Zelos, or the bartender, can say anything. I've got to get away from here.

As I run down the street, freezing without my cape (which I now realize I left in the bar) as snow falls and the wind howls, a loose sheet of newspaper rolls under my feet, causing me to stumble. I glance down, and see the _Meltokio Daily _headline, and the subheading _Obituaries_…

The first name on the page is Sheena Wilder.

* * *

942 words. Consider this the epilogue to _Reminiscence_. Or maybe an alternate ending, whichever you prefer.

BTW, a yellow hyacinth symbolizes 'jealousy.' I was looking for a flower that symbolized unrequited love, or betrayal or murder or something... but apparently nobody wants flowers that mean those things. AND DON'T SAY Judas Tree for unrequited love. Because I'm not naming my story 'The Judas Tree.' Lloyd named the tree Judas, lol.

**Disclaimer: **Do not own. Y'all.


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